On 18th December 1596, a passionate preacher thundered from the pulpit in St Giles’, Edinburgh. The thrust of his message was aimed at King James VI’s interference in the church, for the king preferred the concept of the ‘Divine Right’, of being head of the church, rather than the democratic Presbyterian model. As the young preacher, John Welsh, warmed to his message, he let loose his fiery arrow right into the heart of the battle, stating that ‘his majesty was possessed of a devil, and that after the outputting of that devil there joined to his highness seven devils, which was his majesty’s council.’ Following the example of his father-in-law, John Knox, who decades earlier had remonstrated with Mary, Queen of Scots, he continued his head on collision with royal authority. Suggesting that just as it was lawful for a son to bind his lunatic father for reasons of safety, he said that it was equally right for ‘his highness’s subjects to bind his majesty, being in the like case.’ If John Knox had been alive to witness his son-in-law’s message, he would have been proud of him. But King James VI, already being riled by Andrew Melville’s ‘silly vassal’ rebuke, was seething with rage at John Welsh’s remarks. If Lord Ochiltree had not intervened on his behalf, Welsh would have languished long in prison – or worse.
Later, Welsh was again in trouble with the king. Despite wise advice and rebuke, King James VI pursued his autocratic view of royal intrusion in the church. In 1605 he suppressed the right of holding free Assemblies in the Church of Scotland. When some ministers refused to submit to this control, the king imprisoned some and banished others on the charge of high treason. Among them was John Welsh, who was imprisoned in Blackness Castle. Their crimes were twofold: accepting Christ as Head of the Church, and continuing to be obedient to the biblical pattern of church governance. Instead of the expected death penalty, the king showed mercy and Welsh with his friends were exiled to France. Welsh was exiled for 16 years, after which, in 1622, he was allowed to come to London.
His wife Elizabeth beseeched King James to let Welsh come home to Scotland. ‘Who is your father?’ the king asked her. When he learnt that it was John Knox, he exclaimed, ‘Knox and Welsh! The devil never made such a match as that.’ With typical Knox-like courage and sharp wit she replied: ‘It’s right-like, Sir, for we never asked his advice.’ When the king agreed to allow her husband to return home on the condition that he would submit to him as head of the church and to his bishops, she held out her apron towards him and boldly said: ‘Please your Majesty, I’d rather kep [receive] his head there.’ Welsh died in London as an exile.
In our modern age the outspoken courage of John and Elizabeth Welsh might be misunderstood as religious fanaticism, but to do so would be to ignore the period of history in which they stood. If it had not been for such brave people, we would not today enjoy the freedoms we have. It must not be forgotten either, what sort of a man John Welsh was. This was a man who would spend eight hours a day in prayer, would weep profusely over the sins of his people, pleading with God for hearts to be changed. This was a man, who as minister in Ayr, a town renowned for strife and violent Scottish feuds, became the peacemaker. Setting out a large table in the high street he invited the rival belligerents to sit down and eat together, with Welsh being the mediator, restoring peace to the town, based on truth and forgiveness. Welsh has been described as ‘one of the saintliest men whoever stood in the Scottish pulpit.’
‘Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called sons of God. Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness’ sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven’ (Matthew 5:9-10, NKJV).
Image: Unknown author, public domain, via Wikimedia Commons